


Bounty Full

by Shiggityshwa



Series: Addendum [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Development, Episode: s10e15 Bounty, Gen, Missing Scene, Team Bonding, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: First in a series of stories containing Vignettes from episodes in the 9th and 10th season to help develop Vala's character more. Canon compliant so there are no pairings, but there is some sexual tension because it's Vala.





	1. Mother Cluckers

**Author's Note:**

> So I was watching bounty and painting and I got angry because there were scenes that I wanted to see--cut to me writing this story in two or three hours.  
> This is going to be a series with other episodes being expanded on (Memento Mori, Bad Guys and Family Ties are in the work).  
> Also canon compliant so there is no ValaxCam or ValaxDaniel other than what would be acceptable in the show.

She’s not that good with animals. At first he thinks it’s because of that snooty attitude of hers, the one that comes out in a whine whenever she doesn’t want to do something because it’s too dirty or too boring or too beneath her. The one that he, Jackson, Carter, and everyone at Cheyenne Mountain roll their eyes at.

“My mother was a tavern owner,” she scoffs at him tossing seed down for the handful of hens his parents keep around for the fresh eggs and the natural alarm clock. “Our poultry was already dead by the time we received it.”

Part of him wants to slam the bucket of seed into her chest and leave her to do the task because she asked, no—she begged to come with him to see his folks and his high school buddies before being forced to go to what is basically an adult version of a junior high dance.

Then he remembers the time Jackson left her to catalogue a bunch of ancient artifacts. How he went down to the archives to check on her because it had been hours and he just expected her to be stashing priceless artifacts in the airducts at this point, but instead he found her trying to stem the blood on her hand because she reached into a box blind and pulled on some really old knife by the blade. When he started dragging her to medical, exuding frustration out of worry, she apologized at least five times, and it was sincere, and it was off putting because it was so sincere.

So he tries a warmer approach, because like most things about Vala, there’s usually another reason. “You’re missing out.” Glances over at her perched on the wooden railing of the fence keeping the half dozen hens in. “Feeding an animal, interacting with one, living with one, it’s great.”

She clicks her tongue, and hums a bit, glancing at the hens pecking his feed off the ground. He wishes they had some chicks. She’d probably love the chicks. “You truly enjoy this? Doing a job that an automated piece of machinery could do?”

“Yeah.” Spreads another wave of seed, watching the hens bobbing closer.

“Mitchell.” She hops down from the fence and falls onto shoes not suited for farm life. “You have the highest security clearance your government can offer, you’re privy to secrets that others on your planet cannot even fathom exist.”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s why doing this relaxes me.” The pads of his fingers start scraping the bottom of the bucket and he knows his dad is going to give him a look when he returns with it empty, but he always overfeeds them.

Over the clucking he hears her hard exhale and he thinks it’s a stifled laugh at his expense because that happens sometimes. Sometimes he can’t keep his pants on missions. Sometimes he’s just the simple country boy who loves spoiling some chickens.

But she stands straight, shuffling her shoulders inside a jacket, that again, isn’t suited for farm life, and wiggles her fingers at him. “Well then, don’t hog the feed.”

Ducks his grin away as she cups her hands and he pours the remainder of the feed in. Forgets to tell her not to chuck it across the pen, but she doesn’t. Slowly lets it drift through her fingers, like sand in an hour glass, angling her head with a pensive smile.

He thinks maybe he made this a good experience.

Until all the chickens start to rush the fence to get at the seed and she shoots backwards away from the six-pound feather dusters. “No. No. Nope.”

“It’s okay. They won’t hurt you,” half chuckles because he’s seen her kick men twice as big as her in the throat and not bat an eye.

“Yes, well.” Shifts her shoulders again and her eyes scroll down to the flock of cluckers pecking a few feet away. “You trust that. I don’t.”


	2. Couch Surfing

He hates this stupid couch, the one that used to be in his grandma’s house when she lived a bit up the road. It was covered in plastic and he hated the feel of sitting on it. When she moved in with his folks, when he moved away, the couch came as part of the deal and the day she died, his momma ripped the plastic off like a band-aid. Only, the thirty years of protective covering didn’t stop the actual couch from getting lumpy and right now a spring is right in the middle of his lower back, pressing upwards on a nerve or something because his thigh’s starting to hurt something fierce.

Tries to rotate, face the back of the couch in hopes of getting the spring right in his hip will stop the slow ache from his old injury, but it doesn’t, and he groans as he sits up because he’s going to have to take some pain relievers if he wants to attend the reunion tomorrow.

“You’re a terribly loud sleeper.”

Almost jumps out of his skin and the full layer of clothing he decided to uncharacteristically wear to bed because he would’ve bet dollars to doughnuts that she would’ve found her way down here in the night.

Didn’t think the pie would be joining her.

Leans up on his elbows and watches her sitting in his dad’s recliner, the one that never had plastic on it so now the pale blue plaid is fading away and the fabric tearing. “You know, some folks might consider it rude getting up in the middle of the night and snacking on the family’s pie.”

“Why?” She scoops another forkful into her mouth, her lips smacking, and she wore lip gloss to bed because he can see it glowing in the moonlight from outside. “I break into the commissary all the time.”

Rolls his eyes, shoving himself up into fully sitting, one of his momma’s knitted blankets falling to the floor. His neck is stiff and there’s a hard muscle right at the base of his head. “You shouldn’t.”

“Mitchell, you know I only perceive those locked doors as a minimal challenge.” Scoops another forkful into her mouth and her grin kind of makes it worth it. She might be the only person outside the family who appreciates his momma for her natural talents.

“You know you’re doing a horrible job at being incognito as my date.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re calling me Mitchell.”

“What should I be calling you? Some term of endearment? My big handsome chicken wattle?”

“I should’ve never taught you that word,” grunts as the pain starts radiating down his hip the tips of his toes.

She sets the half empty pie tin down on the coffee table, confusing his pain with irritation. “Really, you were the one who won’t stoop to being bedfellows even in the name of—”

Lets out a shout as he tries to stand and crumples back into the couch. Feels the red and warmth creep into his cheeks ready for ridicule from her, but instead she’s on her feet, swiftly, silently and standing ready. He sort of stares at her because he doesn’t think he’ll ever figure her out.

“What happened?” Ironically whispers now that he’s probably woken both his parents.

“Nothing, my leg just—” Removes his hand from his thigh and points across the room at a modified version of his go bag. “Can you grab me the pills in there? They’re in a—”

“Got them.” Shakes them over her shoulder and slides them across the low coffee table at him. As he pops the cap and swallows two back with the bottle of water he ensured was on a coaster, she plops beside him on the couch.

“Ugh, this couch is awful.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Why don’t you scamper upstairs then?” Takes another large swig of water while he tries to listen to her explain how she won’t make sexual advances on him when they both know she will. “I don’t mind bunking on the—”

“Shit.” Shouts again and winces. When she tries to question his outburst, he places a finger to his lips, shushing her.

When he finally lowers his finger she asks, “What now?”

“I’m supposed to take these with food.” Knows the pain it’s going to bring on his stomach, that his momma’s perfect over easy eggs are going to go right in the trash in the morning.

Vala taps the pie tin over to him, flipping the fork expertly between her fingers so the tines are on her end.

“You ate with that.”

“Oh, right.” She sticks the tines into her mouth, her lips straining away any remaining crumbs and a lot of the bubble-gum pink gloss from her lips. Then she grins, handing it back towards him. When holds his unimpressed expression she tuts him, “now look at who’s being an unbelievable fake partner.”

He ends up eating with the fork.

 


	3. Them Duke Boys

She bounces away from their table, completely unaware of how close she was to giving away the fact that she’s as illegal alien as they come. Sent her to go grab some nametags and she nervously chuckled because she has no idea what they are and bounded off to give him a break for a single second. His leg still sort of aches from that damn couch and he has a Thanksgiving level food coma from eating the other half of his momma’s pie which he had to lie about this morning. He has no idea how Vala can pack it away the way she does.

“Buddy, your date—” Darrel begins and he’s ready for the ribbing, for the questions of where he found her and what the hell he’s doing with her because he’s so level-headed and she’s on another level entirely. But Darrel shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and watching Vala grin nervously at the event coordinator. “Dude, you hit the jackpot.”

“What?”

“She’s gorgeous.”

Leans in waiting for the punchline about how she’s annoying and weird as hell and doesn’t get any of their jokes or understand their stories, and she just said the word village and they’re not visiting a Colonial re-enactment town which is the only place that would be acceptable, but Darrel just leers because one of the other women, one who’s been scowling at Vala all day, tossed her a marker and missed and now she’s bent—he wrenches his eyes closed and turns back to Darrel. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She’s hot as hell. I don’t know how you managed to snag her.”

“You don’t think it’s weird that she didn’t get any of our jokes?”

“Dude, she’s foreign, she’s probably too sophisticated for that.” Darrel leans sideways in his chair, his arms crossed and he’s wearing the same expression she was when she ate pie at three o’clock this morning.

An expression a person should never be looked at with.

“Hey,” he shouts and Darrel’s eyes grow wide. When he glances over his shoulder, Vala has frozen in her spot, a deer on the old backroads, fear-stricken that she did something to upset him. He waves at her and she nervously chuckles waving back.

“Seriously a ten.” Darrel shuffles his butt back to the middle of the chair and uncrosses his arms, his eyes still plastered to her across the room collecting supplies and sharing smalltalk with the only women she’s met outside of the base. “Why’d you let her wear those shorts though?”

Watches how her face lights up at something one of the others mentions because it’s reference she gets, or something she can talk about. She bounces on the balls of her feet nodding, so excited to just have a normal conversation.

Okay so she’s a little cute.

Then he registers what Darrel said.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Those shorts man, like I get that you want to show her off but—”

His eyebrows crease and he leans towards his friend, not entirely understanding the tone. Hoping he doesn’t understand the tone. “But—”

“But I would never let my girlfriend walk around like that. Just flaunting—”

“She’s not flaunting anything. She just likes Dukes of Hazard.” She does. She snuck in an episode or two with him and Teal’c one night under the premise of just stealing a handful of popcorn and they ended up pausing every three minutes to explain something to her.

“Hey, each to his own.” Darrel raises his hands in a mock surrender and gives him a smile. “It’s not like I don’t appreciate it.”

“Even if she was flaunting it, it’s hers to flaunt. I’m not going to overrule what she—”

“What did I miss?” Vala bounds to a stop beside him, her hands full of nametags and permanent markers, her arms full of black slashes from topless markers and more than one stuck and peeled nametag sticker.

“Nothing.” He stands offering her his seat, and she flops down, markers and stickers exploding across the table. “Darrel was just saying how much he loves your shorts.”

“You do?” She lights up again, as he pulls another chair from nearby. “It’s from a show Cameron watched with me.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Darrel gives him a sort of glare and he shrugs picking up a marker and writing her name down on it.

“So.” She claps her hands and grabs at a marker, it slices a black line down her palm. “From what I understand the objective is to write your classmate’s names on these tags and then they’re to wear them at the event tonight.”

“That’s it.” Darrel drones, and he ducks his head in a grin.

“But they’re your classmates, shouldn’t you recognize them?”

“Look, Honey.” Offers a gentle tone, a pet name because she really was so excited to wear those shorts, that top, and he really didn’t care until Daryl gave him a good reason to. “We don’t make the rules here, this is just how it’s done.”

“Okay.” She nods, accepting his non-answer, accepting the pet name, the change in his tone, and angles her head as she writes his name onto her sticker. “Oh, perhaps if we’re still trading stories of our youth, I could tell you about the time my village—”

“No.”

 


	4. Mixed Nuts

Finds her while he’s drifting around the gym looking for Amy. She’s finally done with Gary Walesco’s insurance presentation and he doesn’t want to know how much he’s worth to her now. In Vala style, she’s got a red solo cup filled with finger foods and pastries while she motors around the snack table.

Leans in a bit over her shoulder as she scoops up handfuls of Peter’s mom’s homemade rum balls, trying to act casual while clearing out the dish. “Is there a reason why you’re not using a plate?”  

Her shoulders tense and she scowls at him before popping a rum ball in her mouth. “These are quite delicious.”

“I know.” Plucks one from the top of the cup chews on it a few seconds, and they’re a bit stronger than he remembers. His finger curls over the lip of the cup as he attempts to take it from her and put the rum balls back onto the turkeys-dressed-as-pilgrims Thanksgiving dish they arrived on. “So why don’t you like act like a decent person and—”

“No.” Her grips tightens on the red cup, and she tugs back almost playfully at first. “I—” When his grip doesn’t falter either she gives him a fake, wide smile, which he copies. There’s flash of determination in her eye and he thinks that she actually might bite his forearm in this room full of people, and what he knows of Vala, he wouldn’t put it past her. The rum balls jitter inside the cup when he lets go and she welcomes the calm smile back onto her face. “As I was saying, I have to keep them in the cup because I’ve already been up here several times tonight.”

“Why can’t you just be a normal person and mingle.”

“Because you and I both know I’m categorized as anything but normal, plus there’s the hitch that I don’t know anyone here but you, and you’re too busy fawning over—”

“You were having fun learning about insurance.”

“Yes.” She pops another rum ball into her mouth and shifts the food so it’s all pouched in her cheek. “I purchased a policy—”

Holds a hand up near her face, and with the distraction steals another rum ball. “I don’t want to know.”

There’s smacking of her dry mouth and the squish of the ingredients while she speaks over her chewing. “These people are so boring, Cameron.”

“I know.”

“I do love your mother though, she reminds me of my own.”

It’s the tone of her voice that throws him. Just like when he shoved a dusting rag from archives into her hand in the elevator waiting to get her to Lam for stitches, the same honesty present in her remorseful apologies is present when she speaks of her mother and his.

“Look—” Despite her claims that she’s been cruising the snack table the whole time, there’s several trays that are untouched and he steers her towards the food. “You wanted to expand your palate, why don’t you try some of Bonnie Barker’s zucchini loaf?”

Her nose scrunches as he now pushes her towards the loaf, cut and spread like playing cards around the plate. “I had assumed that had already expired.”

“The green bits are the zucchini.”

“What’s zucchini again?”

“The long green vegetable.”

“A cucumber?”

“No but it—look.” He picks up a piece and flips it in his hand for her. Then takes a bite, there’s the fluffiness and a bit of cinnamon, a hint of orange and crunch of walnuts. “See it’s good, it’s fine.”

She cocks and eyebrow at him, crumbling off a tiny piece to examine in her fingers. He’s never seen her this cautious with food, usually she’s stealing his, half the cafeteria’s, fruit from thank you baskets, and leftovers from various fridges. “What’s the problem?”

Holds the coin sized piece of zucchini loaf between her fingers and examines it under the gymnasium lights. “I’m wary because I possess some minor food allergies.”

The ways she hoovers food, she probably should have had a reaction a long time ago. “How minor?”

“It’s a familial trait handed down from my father, there are four things we cannot eat.”

And he sees this going bad, real bad. “What are you allergic to?”

“Tarlek leaves.”

“Okay, easy, we don’t have those.”

“The marrow from ungulates.”

“Specifically weird, but you’re okay.”

“Taro root.”

“We have that, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually eaten it.” He snatches the piece from between her fingers and chews it, really missing the flavor of home cooking. “Those are really rare foods, I think that you’re safe.”

She hums, her mouth pinches to the side as she plucks up another piece of zucchini loaf, flipping it between her hands.

“What’s the last one?”

“Last what?” Crumbles off a piece of the crust and smells it, nodding with approval.

“Your allergy. You said you had four.”

“Oh.” Grins and moves to take a bite of the bread. “Walnuts.”

Slaps the slice from her hand so quickly, he doesn’t think she registers what happened, just blinks a few times, her eyes wide before staring back at him.

“Next time lead with the walnuts.”

 


	5. Pillow Talk

They’re laying beside each other in bed because he finally gave up on his grandma’s old crappy couch. True to her word, Vala is fully dressed, reclined on her back, her hands clutched at her stomach as she stares up at the ceiling.

“Why are you staring at me?” Still doesn’t look at him, her eyes trained on the watermark where the ceiling started leaking during one really rough winter.

“I’m not staring at you.” He flips onto his back because he was staring at her.

He’s got on a thick, long sleeve shirt that’s more suitable for winters in Colorado than summers in Kansas, combined with her body heat under the blankets, he’s sweating up a storm.

“It’s very disconcerting that you’re staring at me.” She flips onto her side facing him this time, her hand swings back blindly to the side table until she returns with the ice pack clutched between her fingers. She sets it against her pillow and then cushions her jaw over it, not missing a beat in her rambling sentence “—and now that you’re deliberately lying, badly I might add—”

Throws his hands up before clamping them back down mechanically onto the sheet laying across his chest. “Okay, I was staring at you.”

“Good, glad you’ve taken to being honest.” She rolls her jaw, then her eyes back at what he assumes is a pinch of pain. “While I always enjoy being the object of affection of any strapping gentleman, is there a particular reason you—”

“I don’t like that Ventrell hit you,” blurts it out, angling his head towards hers, because he can’t stop replaying in his head how she smashed into the snack table, how if the zucchini bread landed anywhere on her, he might have to call emergency services and then explain why she has naquadah in her veins, and then explain what naqaudah is.

“That makes two of us, darling.” But her expression softens, a weak grin on her lips and she flips onto her back, nuzzling into the ice pack a bit. His momma gave her some painkillers, with a hand over her shoulder directing her to the small bathroom under the stairs, and she sort of eyed him over Vala’s shoulders. A little worried, a little confused and just the smallest sense of disappointment.

He came back fine after all.

No one hit him.

“I should have got to him quicker. I should’ve—”

Shakes her head, holding a hand up for him to stop. “I’m the one who rushed him. I just assumed he was there for me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too good a person to have a man like that after you.” It might be the painkillers talking, but when he tilts his head towards her again, she’s watching him with the same intensity he had.

But then he sees her take the punch again, spin backwards and over the table and he’s glad he let her have all the rum balls before because they would’ve ended up on the ground. “I was too worried about protecting Amy, I didn’t think—”

Groans shimmying her shoulders trying to balance the ice pack with being comfortable. “Please do not compare me to that dullard.”

“I’m team leader.”

“We weren’t on a mission.”

“It doesn’t matter I should have—”

Her hand flings, clamping down over his wrist and he expects her to be more emotionally unstable, but he realizes their positions have switched. Usually she’s worried about someone else, maybe even herself in the way she eyes baked goods, but he’s never seen someone take a hit like that and just get up again. Darrel said they’d been drinking, but other than a few precarious steps that Jackson glared at him for, she sobered up instantly.

The cadence of her voice is soft, not chiding as he expected, not upset. Her eyes are low lidded, slurring her words a bit as she flips back to him one final time, holding his hand in place beside her in the perfect center dip in the meeting of their pillows. “The hard part is watching your friends take chances with their lives.”

She gives his own damn speech back to him and does a better job.

There’s a low smile on her lips before she closes her eyes, her fingers loosen but don’t leave his skin and he stares at her again, trying to figure out if she’s playing possum or has been sedated by painkillers or the big activity of the night. When her breathing levels and her eyes remain closed, he reaches forward, sneaking the pack from under her bruised jaw because she shouldn’t fall asleep on it and instead of obsessing over the stray hair that’s fallen over her face, he trails his eyes across the room where his football trophies glow in the full moon.

 


	6. Love Tap

“How much longer?”

The flight was supposed to be simple, but there’s a honey of a thunderstorm looming over Colorado working its way towards Kansas, and all they need is the wrong mixture of temperatures and then twisters galore. So naturally, the less-than-an-hour flight is now two hours grounded and she’s starting to get antsy.  

“Because sitting here is very boring.”

After the last two days and returning the rental car that she kept insisting she get a chance to drive, they’re sort of fed up with each other. He thought at first it was just her getting on his nerves, but her answers are short and her attitude more dismissive than usual. She exhales, and an elderly couple seated a few rows over in the terminal stare at her with disdain.

“I don’t remember the last time I was this bored.”

He’s on the backside of her row of seats because, he sensed she might need a few minutes of quiet time to herself to get her head wrapped around the fact that, no they can’t beam to the Odyssey and then back to Cheyenne Mountain, and no, unfortunately, the closest stargate is in Colorado Springs.

“Cameron?” Expects her voice to have the familiar high-pitched whine to it, but when he glances sideways from his laptop, she has her head angled towards his, her bruises tucked against the back of the torn and taped chair.

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t know what he expects. Some continuation to her complaining, some sort of veiled threat followed by a less serious and less veiled threat, followed by her disappearing for half an hour and reappearing with a paper bag of food from one of the take-out places because that already happened and he had to walk back there and pay the very unenthusiastic manager throwing in a tip for his troubles.

But again, it’s Vala, and he has a better chance doubling down on a roulette bet, than guessing what she’s going to do next.

She grins at him, soft and true. “Thank you for bringing me along.”

He succeeds in keeping the shock from his face, because maybe that’s the reaction she’s looking for, but he has to turn back to the backlit laptop screen to do it. “You’re welcome.”

Knows she’s watching him, and her lips purse together like she wants to say more, maybe tell him how she wishes her mother was still around so she could share pie with someone, or that he should be thankful for who and how he was raised, that nothing controlling and dark ever wheedled its way inside him.

The constant words from her mouth would be welcoming now, because the back of his neck is heating up and he can only pretend to type out mission reports about Ventrell for so long before she realizes that he’s actually just typing fake words into a blank document. So he slides his gaze towards her, fingers flying over the keys creating the equivalent of a string of baby babble and he offers, “how’s your jaw feel?”

“It’s fine.” Rubs her fingers along the edge of her jaw, over the bruises that are definitely more pronounced, more swollen than last night, and maybe that’s why the old couple is glaring at them. “It’s only a love tap.”

Stops typing, his stomach clenching. “Don’t call it that.”

“I’m sorry.” Again, the apology is genuine and it’s starting to irritate him that when he gets physically upset with her, is the only time she truly listens to him and he doesn’t know who that speaks more about, him or her. “I thought that was a colloquialism for a light hit.”

“Colloquialism from who? Qetesh?” Spiteful words said because he can’t navigate his own feelings. His inadequacies as a leader meant to protect the other team members, and as—he should’ve taken the punch.

“You don’t want to know what Qetesh called them.” Black hair pulls from the back of the chair beside him as she turns away from him, not curling or huddling into the chair, but with legs crossed in the opposite direction of him ending their talk.

Sighs and rubs his own jaw that doesn’t hurt. Then slaps down the screen of his laptop, shoving back into his carry-on. “Look, I’m—”

“For such a prime example of a strong man, you certainly apologize a lot.”

“I have a lot of faults that I’m willing to admit. It’s what makes me strong.”

“What type of faults?” Slips back towards him and he remembers waking up in the middle of the night so close to her, sensing her body heat, her skin just before his toes, the pads of his feet, his fingertips, made contact. How she flipped away from him, her legs bucking and crying out softly in her sleep.

“You’re not interested in my faults.” Stands, slinging his bag over his arm, then grabs her hand, tugging it so she stands. “You’re more interested in how I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Oh,” her eyes gleam and she rounds the seating, stopping at his side. “That does sound more interesting.”

“Well you already had lunch, and then some. What about ice cream?”

“Three scoops?”

“One scoop.”

“Two scoops and I get to try one of your flavors.”

It’s ridiculous, like arguing with a diabolical two-year-old, but her grin is so cheesy and hopeful that it makes him laugh. “Whatever, fine.”

Slips her carry-on, which is smaller, yet somehow heavier than his, over his shoulder and tries not to think of what she could’ve stolen from his folks’ house. She skips ahead of him disappearing into the crowded airport.

**Author's Note:**

> If there is any other season 9 or 10 episode you'd like to see expanded on with 'missing scenes' let me know!


End file.
